Necessary Evils
by lightning bird
Summary: Him has exactly one month to win his bet with Demongo and make Kilroy Green fall in love with him or the Collector of Souls will step in and claim a lot more than Him or anyone else bargained for. Not only is he barred from telling anyone what's happening, but Him has to get past Dexter and the Powerpuff Girls and Professor Utonium to reach his goal.
1. Shot in the Dark

**Necessary Evils**

A/N This story had been very long in coming. It owes its existence to my brain taking a left turn at the end of _Clearly Harassment_ and the input of several talented artists: Deserthaze, SpeakerSpeedy, and HollowHikari, all of whom can be found on deviantArt and all of whom influenced the overall storyline. This picks up where _Clearly Harassment_ lets off, and it follows Him's month-long attempt to woo Mr. Green. This story contains slash and while it's nothing graphic, I know it's not everyone's cup of coffee. Consider yourselves warned if that sort of thing makes you break out in a rash. Also, while much of the story is already written, much is not, so I'll be taking my time posting. I hope y'all enjoy.

The characters belong to their respective creators. I promise to put them back when I'm done.

**Prologue: Shot in the Dark**

"Another shot, Roy?"

Kilroy Green hesitated for all of a moment before he set his glass down within easy reach of his companion. At the moment it wasn't a question of _want,_ but _need_. That it was mid-afternoon and he was technically still on the clock made little difference, given the events of this whole, stupid, annoying, blasted day. "Why not?"

Professor Utonium obligingly poured him a measure of scotch, and then matched it in his own waiting tumbler. Dropping back into his seat on the overstuffed leather couch in his office, Patrick Utonium looked at the green-skinned demon on the loveseat opposite him. Mr. Green was still reeling from shock to learn that the annoying, androgynous, cross-dressing demon that had been harassing him the livelong day was not only the ultimate in evil, but also one of the archenemies of his boss' superhero daughters.

"I've been out of circulation too long. I just thought he was a freak," admitted Kilroy, cradling the cup in his hands.

The Professor saluted with his drink. "He is."

"What kind of a name is _Him_?"

Over the brim of his glass, the other man smiled. "A pronoun."

Green drank a mouthful of the aged liquor before letting the weight of his curved horns pull his head back into the soft cushion behind him. He could feel the burn of alcohol as it his his system. It was strangely comforting, but perhaps it was the company of a good and understanding friend. "I can't believe he kissed me. In front of your kids, no less!" He groaned in shame and pain, slapping a gloved hand to his head.

"Believe it." The Professor sighed, shaking his head, but he was more bemused than anything else. "I'm going to have a lot of explaining to do tonight."

"I'm so sorry, Pat."

Utonium dismissed the issue with a wave of his hand. "Don't sweat it, Roy. There wasn't a lot you could have done to avoid it even if you wanted to."

It took the fire demon's alcohol-addled brain a moment to realize what his employer had just said.

"WHAT?" he exclaimed, flabbergasted that the clean-cut and completely square Professor Utonium would even _imply_ that Green might actually welcome swapping spit with anything that wore tulle and patent leather and displayed a bathroom fetish. Scandalized, he sat bolt upright and gaped at Utonium, who grinned back. It was a moment before he realized he was being teased on a grand scale.

Neither of them had eaten since this morning. The alcohol was hitting them both, and while he couldn't speak for the Professor, Kilroy Van Green knew he was happy, polite, and embarrassingly slow on the uptake when he was drunk. It was the Professor who started laughing first, trying and failing to hide his amusement. The sheer ridiculousness of the whole day suddenly struck Kilroy: Him's outrageous flirtations, a caffeinated Dexter, his own uptight reaction to his lack of underwear, flashing Morton – and he began to laugh as well. They carried on until they were both breathless and drained.

"You should have seen your face," grinned Utonium, red in the face himself as he finished his scotch. He set the tumbler down, holding it in place a few seconds to steady himself. "Come on. Let's get the kids and get something to eat. I'm starved and . . . I need some coffee." He blinked and tried to focus. "Badly."

Green chuckled. "Do you think Dexter's decontaminated by now?"

He checked his watch. "At least three times. He should be pretty squeaky clean."

Green laughed again as he remembered the noise his student had made when he'd been smushed between the demons. Poor Dexter. As he rose to feet to test their steadiness, Kilroy couldn't help but wonder, very quietly even in his own thoughts, if he really would have avoided being kissed by Him if he could.

_Probably_, his mind answered. Then a tiny, lingering echo added _. . . not._


	2. Shufti

**Chapter One: Shufti**

He materialized in the middle of the apartment with a dramatic flourish, just in case it wasn't empty. To his surprise it wasn't quite, but his audience was incapable of appreciating the gesture since the eyes watching him so suspiciously belonged to a cat. Him looked down his nose at the curious ball of stripy gray fluff smelling his boot.

"I'll have you know, kitty cat, I've had people _throw_ themselves at my feet when I arrive like that."

Unimpressed, the cat stretched luxuriously and arched her back, hoping to be petted and fed. Him sniffed and turned away, looking around Kilroy Green's apartment. In the excitement of an ongoing chase he hadn't had much of a chance to snoop this morning, and now that the situation had changed so radically it was imperative that he learn as much as possible, as quickly as possible. Given the late hour he had rather expected Kilroy to be home, but since he wasn't, Him took full advantage of the situation.

It was not a very large dwelling but quite elegant in its décor, rather like its owner, and it was probably chosen for its close proximity to DexLabs and the park located in the heart of Downtown. The colors ranged from warm to rich and the taste ranged from homey to exotic, all carefully blended to be comfortable and relaxing. It was quite pleasing to the eye, and Him looked about with interest, able to tell in a glance where Kilroy's priorities lay. Facing him in the hall was a shelf built into the wall, and on the shelves was a wealth of information.

He lifted a black and white framed picture in his claws. A sports team of sorts, dated back to 1953 according to the caption along the bottom. Princeton? A human school, he realized derisively, then caught himself. It wasn't as if Green would be accepted by his own kind. Technically, he didn't have any. Not really. He instantly picked out Kilroy, the only demon in the picture. He looked very young. The cares that had worn Mr. Green down had yet to set in upon him, and whatever incident had cost him an eye and heavy scars had yet to happen. Everyone in the picture wore matching sweaters and carried a netted racket and they were all smiling. It seemed the humans, at least, welcomed the fire demon. He set the picture back in its place, and then lifted another.

Kilroy, older now, wearing his white hair swept forward to partially conceal the scar just below his eye. A shame anything so breathtakingly handsome should be disfigured so horribly, but to Him the eye patch and scar gave Kilroy a bit of dash few people could hope to pull off. _Élan, thy name is Kilroy_, Him thought. In the picture Green was knee-deep in children and for some reason he seemed to be enjoying himself.

An award made of crystal caught Him's eye. It was dated this year and it had been presented to DexLabs for excellence in design and development. Next to it was a photograph of Green accepting the award and shaking the hand of the human presenting it. Behind Kilroy, in all his obnoxious glory, stood the Red Menace and his watchdog, Utonium. Him disliked children in general and Dexter in particular, and not just because of his close association with the Powerpuff Girls and their goody-two-shoes creator. The brat's accent grated on his ears and much as he hated to admit it (so he didn't), Him was jealous that this short beast could command so much of Kilroy's attention and devotion. He had seen the fire demon's affectionate focus on his student, and in the simplest of terms, Him wanted that for himself and not just because of the bet with Demongo. A few years back in Townsville it had been all the rage in the underworld to kidnap Dexter. Him had held himself aloof from that crowd, more because he didn't want to endure that little whelp's whining than he wanted to follow a trend. He set trends, he didn't follow them, but he certainly wasn't alone in despising Dexter.

The cat mewed at his feet. Him glared down at the annoyance and got back to snooping.

Cook books and yet more cook books filled the shelves just outside the kitchen, most of them centered on cookies and desserts. A sweet tooth, perhaps? That was good to know. There were more book cases in the hall jammed with physics and science books, the very titles of which were enough to make Him want to go to sleep. And speaking of sleep . . .

Kilroy's bedroom surprised him in that there was no bed in it, but a Japanese-style futon on the floor. That was intriguing. There was very little furniture in the room. The dresser was plain black lacquer and on it was a sepia photograph in an ornate bamboo frame that seized Him's attention. Without being told he knew the two demons instantly: Kilroy's parents.

It was a wedding portrait, very old and lovingly preserved. Despite the formality of the occasion and the obvious differences between their backgrounds, there was an unmistakable sense of devotion between the two demons. Her hand rested possessively upon his shoulder, and his hand covered hers in a gesture both affectionate and protective.

Him recognized the species of fire demons instantly. His father was an Irish Laisren demon - dark green skin, jetty hair, laughing eyes, and had he been standing and not seated he would have been too tall for the picture. He was dressed in the armor and weapons of an elite warrior class known simply as Fire Dogs, one of the better-known (and more violent) militia units charged with protecting the Irish coasts from the sea serpents that constantly threatened to overrun the island even today.

Kilroy's mother was a Japanese Hinata, small, delicate, fair as snow, with silver hair done up in an elaborate chignon, pointed teeth, and long, curved horns rising up from her head. She wore a heavily embroidered kimono and obi, and the folding fan she held in the photograph was now resting on the dresser.

Given the prejudiced attitudes of fire demons toward anyone not of their own individual species, it was remarkably daring of these two to fly in the face of society not only to marry, but to have a child. Kilroy was most definitely his mother's child; though he had his father's skin coloring and build. Still, looking into the Laisren's dark eyes, there was undoubtedly the 'go to hell' attitude of a brawler about him, as if he dared anyone to tell him what to do. Him smirked. The Hinata were renowned for their great intelligence and beauty and willpower, and they were among the mightiest warriors in the world when roused. Him suspected he'd much rather tangle with Kilroy's father than his mother, though by the look of things and the fact that there was only a single picture of them, neither was alive still.

How had they met? How had they died? He suspected the story of the Fire Dog and the Hinata would be quite romantic. Kilroy's past would take some looking into, it seemed. At least he and Green had something of a Japanese heritage in common.

A flicker of movement by the door caught his eye, too high to be the fuzz ball which had, thankfully, given up on Him and was sleeping on the futon. Closing the door slightly, he caught sight of the outfit Kilroy had clearly planned on wearing today before he'd left for work naked. Him smiled at the memory, remembering how Kilroy had blushed so nicely and how delightful he looked dripping wet.

Next to the stuffy gray clothing hung a black cape, and somehow this was what had moved. Him recognized it as the cape Kilroy had been wearing the day he first saw the oh-so-handsome tutor because he had been swift to memorize as many details as possible about the object of his affection. He lifted it in his claws. It wasn't fabric. It was . . . what was it? Energy? Something alive? It was soft and warm and had a red sheen to it and it seemed to be aware of his presence. He blinked when the cape moved in its own, one of the wispy edges moving to twine gently around his wrist.

"Aren't you interesting?" Him mused, petting it lightly.

The thing's color brightened a slight bit. Clearly it was enjoying his attention.

Suddenly the cat roused, alerting Him, and a moment later he could hear the door being unlocked. He lowered the cape and put the tip of his claw to his lips.

"Shh," he whispered conspiratorially. "Don't tell Kilroy I was here."

With a quick thought he vanished from sight, but he did not leave the apartment. Instead he became a shadow on the wall, listening and watching.

The door closed and a long, loud sigh filled the quiet.

"What a day," Green groaned. "Pepper, I'm so sorry, little girl. You must be so hungry."

The cat complained loudly now that she had an audience that actually cared. Him slid his shadowy form out into the hall to watch Green putter around the kitchen and fuss over his pet. The green-skinned demon sighed again and let loose with some complaints of his own as he went into the bedroom. Him followed, intrigued that Kilroy had tied his long, white hair back in a ponytail.

"Nothing went right today. Security will never look at me the same. I thought poor Chip was going to faint. I spent the whole day trying to dodge that . . . that _Him_ person. Apparently he's an enemy of the Utonium girls and evil up off the scale."

Him practically purred to hear himself so described. It paid to have a reputation. Kilroy rambled on, as much to himself as his cat, it seemed.

"Dexter was a wreck until dessert, Bubbles discovered a whole new facet of the world of adult relationships she never imagined, and poor Patrick is the one that has to enlighten her _and_ deal with Dexter." Kilroy dropped down on the futon and began to pull his boots off. "No socks. No underwear. And no Fulligah," he added fondly, and to Him's surprise he looked directly at the cape as he spoke. "I'm sorry I left you behind like that, Fuu. I could have used you today. Things went straight downhill from the moment I stepped out of the shower."

The cape flickered brightly. Green smiled as he set the boots aside and went to talk to Fulligah.

"What a day," he repeated, only now there was a laugh in his voice. "Such a day. I don't know what I did to deserve this." With gentle hands he stroked the flickering cape. "Been a long time since I was kissed like that," Green admitted a little dreamily. His voice dropped to a whisper as he shared a secret with his oldest, dearest friend. "It was kind of nice, even if Him is supposed to be evil. At least he's handsome enough . . . though he dresses oddly. I mean, really, who's worn patent leather go-go boots since the sixties?"

He'd heard enough. Much more of this and Him knew he wouldn't be able to resist the desire to talk to Kilroy, and that would most likely undo any progress he'd made (if it could be called that). Demongo was right about one thing, at least – a head-on approach would not work with Green. He was not your typical demon.

And Him abruptly realized that was what drew him to Kilroy in the first place.


	3. Joyride

**Chapter Two: Joyride**

"Now be good!" he ordered Pepper, smiling as the cat rubbed herself against his boot. Green leaned over to scratch her beneath the chin one last time before scooping up his briefcase and closing the door, heading down to the garage of his townhouse. He was familiar enough with the space that he didn't need to turn on the light. He activated the control to open the door and set his briefcase on the passenger seat of his Spitfire before climbing into the small convertible. As always the car's roof was down – he only put the rag top up when the weather was particularly bad since his horns were so long. He could barely fit otherwise.

Kilroy gathered Fulligah close before sitting behind the wheel and putting on his seat belt. The day was clear and bright and he automatically reached for his sunglasses. He blinked, realizing they weren't on the dashboard where he knew he'd left them. Suddenly from his blind side a voice asked,

"Looking for these?"

He jumped so high he almost throttled himself with his seat belt, and he dropped back into the seat with his heart racing. Kilroy twisted to the right and found himself looking at his own sunglasses perched on Him's nose. The tubular red demon – still dressed in tulle and those thigh-high boots – was seated atop the briefcase with his right stiletto heel resting on the side view mirror. Him gave Kilroy a devilish grin and waggled his eyebrows before sitting back languidly and asking in a casual tone,

"Won't you be late?"

Kilroy stared, having absolutely no idea as to how he should react to this development. In the wake of yesterday's fiasco and foot stomping, the last person Green expected to see was Him. Ever. Especially not in his car. After a long, long moment Him smiled at the other demon's gaping expression and looked at him over the top of the glasses. His echoing, hollow voice was full of amusement.

"I have that effect on a lot of people."

And still Kilroy stared, helpless to form a word or shut his mouth or even blink. Him's smile grew broader and he leaned his head flirtatiously on his clawed hand, bracing his booted foot on the dashboard for support. How he managed it in so cramped a car was nothing short of remarkable.

"So!" His voice was chipper and imbued with excitement. "I see you . . . drive a stick."

That penetrated his stunned thought process. Kilroy's gaping shock evolved into a completely different species of shock as Him's insinuation sank in. Three tries later, Kilroy found his voice. Words, however, failed him at first.

"I – whu – you – uh – the – what – what are you doing here?" he finally managed to stutter.

"I want to go for a ride!" Him replied, indicating the great outdoors with a sweeping gesture.

"No!" Kilroy squawked. "Get out of my car!"

"If you insist. Shall I have dinner ready for when you get home, turtledove?" Him braced himself to obey the command.

"No!"

"You want to go out. Sounds delightful. Seven good for you?"

"No!"

"Six, then."

He shook his head. "No! Quiet! Just - _shush!"_

Happily, Him complied, his smile never fading. Kilroy gripped the wheel of the car with both hands, trying to figure out what to do. Him had one point – he was going to be late for work at this rate.

"Whatdoyouwant?" demanded Kilroy.

Him relaxed back into the seat and posed with all the grace of a Greek statue, acting as if this was exactly where he belonged. "I want to go for a ride."

"I'm going to DexLabs!"

"I love DexLabs!"

"Oh, please! You can't stand Dexter!"

"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate his taste in architecture." He tilted his head, peeking at Kilroy out of the corner of his eye. "You're going to be late."

He didn't know what else to do, so he started the car with more force than was necessary and pulled out of the garage. Him was on Kilroy's right, so the younger demon missed the triumphant smirk on his companion's face.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Stop that! Him! Stop playing with the radio! And – no! Get your feet back inside the car! Will you – HIM! Downtown does not need to see your underwear!"

"At least I wear it." Him sat up waved at passers-by as if he was the grand marshal in a parade, flashing his legs and having the time of his life. He was impossible to contain and Kilroy was having a hard time maintaining a straight face and his composure. A moment later Him went for the dashboard.

"What does this button do?"

"Nothing." He tapped the other demon's claw away from the controls for the convertible's top. "Don't touch that."

"Oooh. What does _this_ button do?"

He twisted a bit to escape Him's clutches. "It holds my tunic closed."

"Borrr-ing. So can I push your buttons, Kilroy?"

"Trust me, you already have."

"Oh, Mr. Green, have some fun! It's not as if anyone will recognize you!"

Green clutched the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. "Because there are _so_ many green demons with horns driving red convertibles in Downtown."

"Really?" gushed Him, looking about as if he expected droves of Green look-alikes crowding the streets. "If I had known that I would have come here a lot sooner."

He looked down at a sudden weight in his lap to see Him – still wearing his glasses – studying him thoughtfully, having managed to contort himself so his head was on Kilroy's lap and his legs were draped over the passenger side door.

"When the last time you really cut loose, turtledove?"

"Ask your foot."

Him chuckled in delight, kicking his feet. A moment later he stilled, pretending to be serious. "I'll stop if you want," he promised.

"Oh, no," Kilroy replied. "I've been around children long enough to know you'll just find something worse to do."

"I'm hardly a child, child!"

Kilroy smiled, not fooled for a moment. "You're acting like one."

"Hmph." Him wriggled and scrunched and twisted around so that he could pout dramatically in the best thing the Spitfire had to offer as a corner. His act lasted all of about seventeen seconds. Kilroy stopped the car at an intersection where a Downtown police officer was standing by the curb. Immediately Him waved and knelt on the seat. "Officer! Officer!"

"What are you _doing?"_ demanded Green tightly.

"Getting directions!" Him said loudly enough for the cop to hear. He lifted the sunglasses off his face and waved again. "You'll drive all day and we'll be late!"

The burly man drew close, eyeing them a little askance, but Him poured on the charm and even Kilroy had to admit that Him's charms, properly applied, were a force to be reckoned with.

"Officer, can you pleeeease tell us how to get to DexLabs? We've been driving for ages and my dear friend here refuses to admit we're lost."

"I know where I'm going!" insisted Kilroy. The light turned green. "I'm not lost."

Him shook his head and looked to the officer for sympathy. He got some along with an odd look as the officer pointed and said, "Second light, turn left. The main entrance is half a mile down on the left."

By now the light turned red. Green saw the same when he realized he had been goaded. They were acting like an old married couple and if he tried to defend himself he'd come across completely wrong and stubborn and that was exactly what Him wanted.

"Thank you! Did you get that, Kilroy?"

Clenching his jaw, he nodded his head the least bit, tempted to pitch Him out on top of the cop. The light turned green again and Kilroy dropped the Spitfire into gear, spilling Him over. The tall demon let out a laugh and dropped safely into his seat, waving to the cop.

"Let's do this again tomorrow!"

"No!"

He took the next turn a little faster than he should have, not sure if he should be glad or not that it was Friday. As a senior DexCorp staff member, Green didn't use the main entrance, but he parked in the underground garage attached to the main building. As soon as he took the turn, however, Green pulled to the side of the road.

"All right, Him," he said, trying to sound stern but fearing he wasn't fooling the other demon for an instant, "This is as far as you can go."

"Don't you want to annoy the guards?"

"I traumatized them enough yesterday, thanks. May I have my glasses, please?"

Him drew back against the door. "Come and get them."

He'd wrestled with Him enough already. "Keep them."

"Spoil sport. See you later, then?"

For the second time in less than half an hour, Green was rendered speechless by this creature's egotistical self-assurance. Finally he managed, "N-No! Did I not get through to you yesterday?"

Him smiled and pulled off the glasses. "But that was yesterday."

Kilroy slumped, putting a hand to his head as he sighed.

Him's smile abruptly vanished, and in a surprisingly somber tone he asked, "Do you enjoy loneliness so much that you _really_ want me to go away, Kilroy? Are my attentions so distasteful? Can you honestly say you haven't gotten some amusement out of the past twenty-four hours?"

He dropped his hand, taken aback by this unexpected line of questioning, and turned to look at Him. The lithe red diva gazed at him squarely, almost a little sadly, as if he was disappointed. Kilroy did not know what to say for the simple reason that he did not know what he was feeling at the moment. Him had hit closer to home than he knew.

When Green said nothing after a few seconds more, Him swung his long legs over the door and stepped gracefully out of the car. He returned the glasses to his face and smiled.

"See you around, Mr. Green," he said, just as he had the day before, and he vanished in a swirl of pink smoke.

For a minute or more Kilroy stared at the spot, uncertainty filling him. Finally he put the Spitfire into gear. He had been given a great deal to think about, and if he was going to be of any use at work today he had better focus. It was going to be difficult. Consciously or not, Him had stirred up feelings that the fire demon had done his best to bury over the years. Abruptly he knew that he had enjoyed the drive simply because Him's absence had left him with a sense of forlorn isolation.


	4. Ice

**Chapter Three: Ice  
**

He was not alone in having a rocky start to his day. Foregoing his usual (and rather necessary) cup of coffee with Professor Utonium, Kilroy barely had time to drop off his brief case in his office, grab his lesson plan and text books, and hurry to the meeting room that served as Dexter's classroom. He was hurrying down the hall when he spotted Dexter heading his way from the opposite direction. His only student was loaded down with books and . . . a pet carrier? He was followed by a Dexbot carrying more books. Surprised, he held the door open for Dexter to enter the room.

With a groan of frustration Dexter dropped the books onto the table, following them with the carrier. The robot added the load it was carrying to the pile before whizzing out the door again.

"Bad morning?" asked Kilroy, setting his own books down and reaching over to straighten Dexter's mess.

"To put it nicely," snapped the boy. He was dressed in black from head to toe, save for his usual purple gloves. It was an odd sight. Kilroy could not remember ever having seen Dexter without a lab coat on when he was outside of his suite. Still, given the time of day and Dexter's attitude, it was easy to guess what - or who - had happened.

"DeeDee?"

"She came for breakfast," Dexter happily ranted, making sure the door was closed before unzipping the carrier. His accent was thicker than usual with this renewed burst of annoyance at his sister. "We had pancakes. With honey and maple and blueberry and strawberry syrups. In the dining room."

Green could tell where this was going. He knew and liked DeeDee very well, but she could be very trying for her brother with her unintentional but destructive tendencies. Dexter glanced up and knew he did not need to elaborate further.

"The custodial crew is now steam cleaning the carpets," he said crossly, reaching in to retrieve his pet. "If they can't get the blueberry stains out, they'll replace the carpet and they may have to repaint the walls. My lab coat, being cotton, was a complete loss. I didn't have time to get another from the laboratory, though a Dexbot should be delivering one presently."

A faint meow sounded as Dexter pulled forth his ragdoll cat. In many ways Einstein was like his owner – small for his kind, blue-eyed, feisty, and, at the moment, rather put out by this break in routine. Dexter cradled the limp brown-and-cream-colored cat in his arms and looked up apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Green. I couldn't leave him there with the chemicals they were using on the rug. "

"Of course not, Dexter," he replied, reaching out to stroke the cat. Instantly Einstein was purring. "It's not a problem at all." He gave the boy a knowing look and a smile. "I can appreciate having a less than stellar morning."

Settling down to the lesson on hand proved fruitless. Dexter was distracted and they could not blame Einstein. The cat was curled up and sleeping in a patch of sunlight streaming into the room. Something else was irritating the young genius.

"Dexter?"

"I'm sorry," said the redhead, dropping his pen. Pulling off his glasses, he rubbed his aching forehead. "I've got a lot on my mind."

"What is it? Not DeeDee?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Not yesterday?"

A small snort escaped him and Dexter suppressed a laugh. "No. No, not yesterday."

"You're sure?" he pressed, just to make the boy blush and laugh. They were close enough that they could tease one another without sacrificing any respect or dignity. "No leftover trauma at that group hug? No damage to your hearing after Him got stomped? I promise I remembered to wear underwear today."

A welcome giggle answered. Dexter returned his glasses to his face and said, "Not even that, Mr. Green. I just found out that the Plumbers will be here Monday morning."

He sobered. "Ohhh."

"Starting with Major General Neelandu 'Plumbers Put the Fun in Funding' Shaan and Colonel William Dearing."

"I thought you liked the general."

"I do, but he and the Department of Defense and the Plumbers can't grasp the fact that I can't work on their weapons twenty-four hours a day. Every time I come out with a different idea or invention they howl louder than Him that there's a war on and they need new ways of blowing up Fusions."

"They're soldiers, not scientists. Is Max coming?"

"I hope so."

"How about Ben?"

"I really hope so. I'll call him and find out."

"Do you have any idea what the meeting is about?"

"Not yet, but I suspect it's about the upgrades to the jump platform system we're rolling out. The Plumbers are very interested in that technology and may submit a proposal to adapt them for use between Plumber ships and space stations. The Professor will know."

Dexter smiled and instantly Green knew what he was thinking: his father would handle the details, he would handle the problem. Not so very long ago someone on Colonel Dearing's staff had made the mistake of trying to contact Dexter directly with a question on the Null Void Strata Caster missiles – DexLabs' answer to a Bunker Buster - rather than adhering to the established protocol of channeling all inquiries through Professor Utonium. The Professor, usually so mild, had been furious and threatened to end the project immediately out of fear for his ward's safety and privacy. It had taken a lot of backpedaling and damage control by both the Army and the Plumbers to soothe Utonium's ruffled feathers. Now no one, not even General Shaan, was allowed to communicate with Dexter without clearance from his guardian.

This had put Ben Tennyson in a rather envied position. He was one of the few people whom Dexter considered a close friend, and as such he had a direct line of communication with the boy genius. Though the Department of Defense, US Army, and the Plumbers all envied him, there were times when Ben rather wished Dexter would refrain from calling him. It was not unusual for Dexter to keep some rather extreme hours and, rarely being aware of the time, he thought nothing of calling his friend whenever the whim took him. Even then Ben didn't mind so much, provided Dexter didn't called at three in the morning just to tell him about a new slime mold he'd added to his collection. It wasn't the call as much as the subject matter.

"Well, let's put this aside for now until you can focus," decided Green, closing his book. He was rewarded with a grateful look. Dexter's interest in particle physics was genuine and he grasped the applications with almost alarming speed, but it called for his complete concentration and Green knew there was no forcing the issue. When Dexter's attention returned to the subject they would continue.

"What else have you been working on?" asked Green. "How is the_ August_ coming along?"

"There's an issue of landing gear," Dexter replied, closing his book and pushing it away.

"What's the issue?"

"Ice."

The _X-1 August_ was the latest in a series of aeroships designed by Dexter and the aeronautics division of DexCorp. After a number of setbacks, her keel had been laid and she was being built. When done the _August_ would be the sleekest, fastest, most deadly ship to ever take to the skies and Dexter fully intended for her to be used in this war against Planet Fusion. The _August_, however, was just a prelude to Dexter's masterwork, the battle cruiser _Terror_.

"What about ice?" asked Mr. Green, sitting back in his chair.

Visibly excited by the subject, Dexter stood so that he could pace and talk at the same time. "As you know, the _August_ will have VTOL capabilities. However, there will be situations where that may not be desirable. For example, taking off from an ice field. In simulations the engines for a vertical takeoff put off so much heat that the ice beneath the _August_ destabilized."

"You already have the standard jet plane capability for takeoff and landing on a runway. What about the landing gear? Will she be able to land and launch on ice with the landing gear she has now?"

Schematics were called up by Computress. Teacher and student poured over the designs projected in the air before them.

Dexter folded his arms, gesturing with a purple-gloved hand. "Dr. Von Reytion suggested something like skis in lieu of wheels. It would be simple enough to design an optional system of landing gear, but I know nothing about the dynamics involved."

That he admitted to ignorance so easily told Mr. Green that his student's lack of knowledge on the matter was complete.

"You've never done any work with metal or polymers on ice?"

"Nothing outside of making sure the Null Void lasers work in sub-zero temperatures."

"Think of it like ice skating. If you know how to do it well, you don't need to brake to slow or stop."

The redhead frowned, trying to picture it. "I don't know anything about skating, Mr. Green."

He blinked, astonished. "You've never been skating?"

"Never." He grinned at his teacher's expression. "What?"

His voice was almost a squeak. "Never?"

Dexter laughed aloud, a rare event when he was removed from his adopted family, but he found Green's scandalized reaction amusing. "Never."

"It would be easier to show you what I mean," Green admitted, thinking out loud.

There was a pause as Dexter weighed this statement, and slowly he smiled.

"Then teach me how to skate, Mr. Green," said the owner of DexLabs.


	5. Mine

**Chapter Four: Mine**

Despite his calm exterior, Dexter was terribly excited at the notion of getting out of DexLabs for a day to go skating. He didn't care that a field trip for him to the local sports complex was a logistical nightmare for his security staff – it had been months since he had been permitted to leave his headquarters. Besides, dealing with moments like this was exactly what he paid them to do. Mandy was not pleased at the proposal, but the Boy Genius told her flat-out that he was going and invited the leader of Earth's Combined Forces to toss herself in the pool in the atrium if she didn't like it. Dexter was immensely valuable to earth – easily the greatest scientific genius devoted to this war and one of its primary financers – and as such he was very jealously guarded by layers and layers of security and defenses. Since he did not like going outside, most of the time he didn't care or even notice provided no one bothered him while he was working, but occasionally Dexter felt himself go a little stir-crazy (usually when Ben was around) and had to get out. The promise of learning something entirely new and in a completely unfamiliar setting was enough to give him an instant case of cabin fever.

Kilroy Green spent a large part of his day arranging the expedition. The Professor easily granted his permission for the trip once he understood the reasoning behind it. His knowing smile left Kilroy a little disconcerted. Utonium said nothing, but Green knew not to be fooled. An amused Patrick Lawrence Utonium was a creature to be feared and respected. This was either incredibly clever or incredibly stupid of him. Only time would tell, because the president of DexCorp certainly wasn't going to be forthcoming with information.

Security was not so understanding. He had booked the ice rink for Monday morning, figuring it would be time enough for Dexter to read up on skating and to arrange transporting his charge there. Dexter had eagerly dropped everything he was working on to plunge into the wide world of skating. By contrast, DexLabs Security had gone straight to high alert. The three security sergeants on duty during the day had practically howled at such short notice and immediately sent half a dozen officers to scout out the site and get copies of the arena's blueprints and called Sgt. Morton in on his day off. The only saving grace the head of security could see was that Dexter and Green had the ice to themselves – the demon had, at least, arranged to keep anyone else from reserving space until noon, gladly paying the hefty fee in order to keep prying eyes and strangers away from his student and probably saving his own life in the process. Other than that, Kilroy Green found himself the subject of many a cross look and growl, and got himself intensely disliked when they found out Dexter did not know how to skate and ran the risk of injury.

Just to be ornery – and because his day off and a lunch date with his girlfriend had been disrupted – Chip Morton dragged Green along for the ride when he went to see the ice rink for himself. Though they shared an odd sort of friendly rivalry and basically agreed to disagree on almost everything just for the fun of arguing, Green kept his usual digs and barbs to himself. They both knew that after the disaster that was yesterday, Chip had Green outclassed and outgunned.

"Skating," stated Chip tonelessly as he drove the short distance from DexLabs to the arena.

"Skating," confirmed Green in an equally bland voice.

"I thought your game was badminton."

Used to having his hobby thus maligned, Kilroy calmly said, "And in the winter, it was hockey."

He could feel the disbelief hanging heavy in the air. Chip opened his mouth to speak, but Kilroy beat him to it.

"Goalie."

Chip's eyebrow twitched, and that was the last thing said before they reached their destination. As with Utonium, Green wasn't sure if the sergeant – whose list of accomplishments started with graduating Annapolis and included service as a Navy SEAL, ten years as executive officer for the world's largest nuclear submarine, and heading DexLabs Security among other things - was impressed or just plain scared for his employer.

The Downtown Sports Arena was barely a year old and hadn't had a chance to get worn or dirty yet. Kilroy fondly remembered his college days as he stepped into the echoing space. The smell was the same, as was the brisk humidity of the ice rink. They met with the manager and were given leave to scout out the complex once he was made aware of his client's identity. Green followed Chip all through the place and finally onto the ice. The blond frowned all around, but especially at Kilroy.

"This place is an ambush waiting to happen," grumbled Morton, studying the tiered seating.

"It's a skating rink," Green grumbled right back.

There were a few people using the ice, mostly junior and teen figure skaters and their coaches. For the most part they ignored the DexLabs employees, being intent on their lesson, and Green and Morton kept their distance, but a few waiting parents grew agitated at the sight of a fire demon near their children, as if Kilroy might spontaneously combust or go berserk and pounce some hapless figure skater for brunch.

"Hey!"

"Oh, here we go," muttered Green, bracing himself. He was quite spoiled by DexLabs and the respect and regard with which he was treated. It was easy to forget that outside that atmosphere, not many people were tolerant of monsters and demons and old fears reigned. The fact that he was a demon had nothing to do with his position there, and except for occasionally serving as guinea pig for Dr. Cardon's research into monster medicine, it had never been an issue.

But not everyone was as enlightened as Dexter and there was no denying Kilroy's appearance and dress were at best startling. He sighed, preparing to face off against prejudice and ignorance while forcing himself to smile all the while, when Chip called it.

"Mine."

To Green's complete surprise, Chip turned and faced the man standing at the edge of the ice. He had been in full-bore XO mode all day and was in no mood for stupidity, which was unfortunate for the man.

"Problem?" demanded Chip coolly.

"Yeah!" speaking to Chip, he pointed at Green. "You got no business being here. Get off the ice!"

"You have no business telling us what to do and we'll leave when we're ready." He turned his back and went back to observing the logistical possibilities of the rink, perfectly aware that the man was storming across the ice at them. Close up, they immediately noted that he was short, gnarled, and bitter. He wore a uniform for the arena and by his disheveled state, Green assumed he was either a janitor or in maintenance.

"We don't want your kind here!" hissed the man, pointing a finger at Kilroy.

"You got something against astrophysicists?" demanded Morton.

"I got something against monsters!"

"So do I, and I'm looking at one right now," countered the sergeant, glaring hard at the man. "Your boss gave us permission to check out the whole building. Unless you want more trouble than you can afford, I suggest you back off."

The man gave Morton a derisive look that was significantly less impressive than the sergeant's steely frown. "What are you, you his bodyguard?"

"Yes," said Chip in a tone of voice that instantly negated any sort of comeback. Getting into his new, self-appointed role, he shifted to impose himself between the man's anger and Kilroy, daring him to do or say anything more. The fact that he was in body armor from boots to baseball cap and packing multiple weapons ranging from Null-Void blaster to a conventional firearm to two knives that were visible (and four that weren't) seemed to register with the janitor. Kilroy forced himself not to smile. One man meant to intimidate, the other was simply intimidating. It didn't take a genius to know they had a winner.

"Thanks," Green said after the man stalked off, muttering.

"The pleasure was mine," Morton replied. "You get that a lot?"

He sighed. "Every time I walk out the door."

"People are jerks," the sergeant stated simply.

"Monsters are worse."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The afternoon was smoother than the morning, but Kilroy was so involved with arranging transportation and getting clearance and trying to calm down the owner of the sports complex at the notion of armed security in his building that the day was gone before he realized it. He had forgotten to eat lunch and he'd hardly taken any opportunities to sit down, and when he finally left that evening he was feeling the effects of such a busy day. He didn't even recall the events of the morning until he reached his car and saw that his sunglasses were gone. Slumping in his seat, he had never been quite so glad before that it was Friday. After the past few days, he needed to sleep and do his best to relax. He was exhausted.

Well, if nothing else he had made Dexter blitheringly happy and had given him a lot to look forward to. For all he was content in his life and family, the young genius rarely had the opportunity to act his age and engage in things most normal boys did as a matter of course. As he started up the Spitfire, Kilroy was determined to make the outing as much fun as educational. Well, maybe more fun . . .

He himself was an excellent skater. Back in college he had been recruited to play for their ice hockey team, which he had done for three years. The then-captain of the hockey team had been in his fraternity, and it turned out that he wanted Kilroy for the pure intimidation factor that green skin, pointed teeth, and long horns offered. He had surprised the team of rowdies by being very capable and ended up playing in a number of positions, his best and favorite being goalie. The violent release the game offered was refreshing and he had enjoyed the rough camaraderie of his teammates - bias against demons had given them many welcome excuses to duke it out on the ice and, if they were lucky, at a bar afterwards.

By the time he parked the car in the garage he felt as if he had run a marathon. Dragging himself upstairs, Kilroy was greeted by a hungry cat that twined herself around his boots and almost tripped him flat. To preserve his own life he carried Pepper into the kitchen and he smiled as she purred in anticipation of dinner. At the moment he had no interest in food. Once Pepper was fed he just dropped onto the sofa in the living room and leaned his head back. Closing his eye, Green gave himself over to resting his weary body.

He stirred when Pepper joined him on the sofa. Purring and happy, she lay against his leg and proceeded to wash her paws. Kilroy smiled, laying his hand on her soft fur before he lapsed back into his warm, heavy stupor.

Sleep was tantalizingly close and he knew that if he stayed still much longer he'd fall asleep. Too comfortable to move, he propped his feet up on the table and decided he didn't care, watching the shadows deepen and lengthen across the room.

At first he wasn't sure if it was a dream or not when it seemed that a shadow moved on the opposite side of the living room. Through half-closed eyes Kilroy gazed at the spot, curious and trying to ascertain if it was real or his tired imagination. He had no sense of a threat, just a presence not unlike Fulligah.

A dark form detached itself from the dim corner, tall and lithe. It took Kilroy's tired mind a few moments to recognize the form – Him. At this point he had no notion if this was real or a dream, but at least the other demon made for an agreeable – though odd – sight. There were worse things to dream about in Kilroy Green's life.

As he watched through barely-opened eyes, Him drew closer, moving with grace and purpose. Pepper raised her head, letting out a small trill and a warning meow as Him left the shadows and stepped to the center of the room.

"Shh," ordered Him, lifting a claw to his lips and glaring at the cat. Pepper was not impressed by the Ultimate Evil and meowed again. Him shook his head, leaning over to study Kilroy.

There was no sense of malice from the older demon. The fact that Pepper just stared spoke volumes. Fulligah, aware of Kilroy's fatigue, simply stayed warm and soft. Had there been a threat the _enzeru_ would have known and warned him. For a minute or more Him gazed at Kilroy from boots to horns, a smile playing on his lips. Then he reached out and set something on the end table beside Green. Pepper watched his every move suspiciously, but did not budge from beneath Kilroy's hand.

"Sweet dreams, Kilroy," whispered Him fondly, backing away into the shadows again. A little sorry to lose Him's company, Kilroy lapsed into sleep. So tired was he that he did not stir until early the next morning. At dawn he woke up on the sofa with Pepper's warm and comfortable weight on his chest. She roused as he petted her head, a purr from deep in her throat bidding him good morning. Rested and content, he spent a few minutes spoiling his already spoiled cat.

He was hungry. Picking up Pepper, he cradled her in his arms as he stood, grimacing as he realized he'd slept in his boots. "Breakfast?" he asked. "I'm starv-"

He paused, his gaze falling on the side table. His sun glasses were there by the lamp. It hadn't been a dream. He smiled, lifting the glasses and remembering the barely-believable sequence of events since Thursday morning. He knew full well he hadn't seen the last of Him, but at the moment that prospect didn't seem so troublesome.


	6. Beginning of the End

**Chapter Five: Beginning of the End**

In his pocket dimension just to the side of earth's plain of reality, Him sprawled on a divan and brooded. He was not possessed of the calm acceptance and joy in simple things that seemed to have blessed Kilroy, and he was not sure if that was good or bad. Good, he supposed, because it struck him as exceedingly dull and that was the last word he would ever use to describe himself. Immortal, powerful, trapped by Demongo's spell, Him was no more used to being helpless than he was used to boredom or having his whims denied, yet right now he was experiencing all these things. Even as a lover of novelty and new sensations, he could have gladly gone without the complications he now faced.

He had to think and think hard. The only way out of this mess was to get Kilroy to fall in love with him. He knew that perfectly well. On the surface it seemed like an easy enough task to accomplish. There was no deception in Kilroy Green, no ulterior motive or selfishness that marked Him so distinctly. The lack of deep and dark intent was rather disconcerting, enough that Him hesitated. He already knew he had to approach Kilroy with care – his foot still hurt after the initial turn-down.

But just because he was bound by the rules of the game didn't mean that Demongo would play fair. At least he had more shot in his locker than the Collector of Souls. Shaking his head, Him rolled his eyes at the affected title. Demongo needed a hobby outside of gloating over skulls and souls. Tatting, perhaps.

It had all started out so simply – deceptively so. He had followed the Powerpuff Girls to Downtown and just as he was contemplating some mischief (just to make their lives interesting, of course, not for any evil intent since there _was_ a war going on) they had gone straight to that corporate colossus DexLabs. Him knew full well that the girls' father was president of DexCorp International. He had never met Dexter face-to-face (not that he wanted to – he'd heard quite enough about that abrasive pest from his peers in Townsville and the Underworld) but he had seen him in the recent past and heard him speak and had not been impressed. For some reason Utonium seemed to like obnoxious children because he had added Dexter to his brood. Then again, the midget menace was sole owner of a company valued in the billions and growing every day, so maybe there was something to be said about obnoxious children. Not that Him had much use for money, but it was convenient to have now and then.

So he happened to be watching the Powerpuff Girls as they happened to be going to DexLabs and they happened to land in one of the gardens a few paths away from where Dexter, Utonium, and a dream come true happened to be walking and this nightmare began . . .

_Tall. Slim. Green. Long white hair. Elegantly curved horns. Graceful gestures. Quick smile. Who was this demon? What was he? Him didn't recognize the demon's species (not that breeding or lack thereof mattered in the least when anyone was as easy on the eyes as this fine young specimen). A hybrid, perhaps, because he had the look but not the coloring of a Hinata. That could all wait, however, because the entirety of Him's purpose now was to find out as much as possible about this striking demon. _

_What was he doing here, with humans? Human children, no less? Him practically broke out in a rash when exposed to too many of the precious little darlings, and here this piece of eye candy was walking and talking with the universally despised (at least in demon circles) Dexter. On purpose, no less. It boggled the mind. The Boy Genius was, quite literally, a Holy Terror. That was to say he had been declared Untouchable and Inviolate for the duration of the war against Planet Fusion for all demon kind by Aku. Seeing as how Aku was easily the most powerful, ruthless, far-sighted, versatile, and intelligent demon ever spawned, no one that valued existence dared to defy his command. Indeed, all demons were expected to protect Dexter if another demon attacked him or face the almighty wrath of Aku. That rankled in ways demons the world over could not begin to describe. A human, a mere mortal, of greater value than one of their own? While Him had no desire to confront the Lord of Evil, he would find it difficult and distasteful in the extreme to be compelled to come to the defense of a snot-nosed brat he loathed so completely. _

_With the Powerpuff Girls so close he had to move with caution, and so he materialized on the branch of a tree close by the object of his fascination, bending himself to the contours of the limb and peering through the cover of brightly colored leaves to watch and listen._

_Close up the dreamboat was even more appealing. There was a patch over his right eye and the trace of a scar marring his cheek. Him's interest only grew at the sight. Not only gorgeous, but dashing to boot. Him's mind raced to a variety of romantic notions to explain the young demon's unprecedented presence alongside a Holy Terror and a complete bore like Utonium. Was he somehow enslaved? Captive? Exiled? Was he a bodyguard? Had he been sent by Aku to protect the little horror at his side? He stayed very close to the boy, close enough that Him felt his hatred of Dexter grow, something he had not thought was possible. _

_Jealousy? Was this jealousy? So instantly? Of the Holy Terror? Impossible! _

_". . . team finalized the hover board's design yet, Mr. Green?" Dexter was asking. Yanked out of his daydreams, Him grimaced. The child's accent was positively painful to hear. What he did to proper pronunciation was criminal. With so much money one would think there would be someone who could teach him to speak correctly. However he was useful for at least providing Him with the name of his brand new hobby._

_"We expect to have the finalized design and proposal before the end of the week," the green demon replied. "We're submitting options using carbon fiber or Kevlar for the deck."_

_"Why two options, Kilroy?" wondered Utonium._

_"We did some testing and surveys and ultimately it boiled down to personal preference. Some testers preferred the safety features and lightness of carbon fiber while others preferred the toughness and flexibility of Kevlar."_

_Kilroy. Kilroy Green. How very wonderful and fitting a name. How delightfully Irish. He spoke well and with quiet, understated authority. He could have read the phone book and Him would have been entranced. The red demon let his eyes range up Green's form. The clothes were dull but well tailored and seemed to designate rank or distinction of some sort, and the knee-high boots were to die for. For all his exotic appearance, Kilroy seemed perfectly at ease among these humans and they seemed to think nothing of a demon in their midst. _

_"What was the breakdown?" asked Dexter in that grating voice._

_"Almost fifty-fifty," said Mr. Green. _

_Dexter folded his arms with a little huff. "Each requires completely different production processes."_

_"Which was why we wanted you to look at them both," he replied."The floor chiefs in DexCorp are leaning toward carbon fiber, but they're on a kick since they saw what it did for the racing teams."_

_Gorgeous, dashing, and smart. Where had this jewel been hiding all these years? He was wasted on these humans._

_Dexter nodded. "Mmm. I'm waiting to hear back from Pops Racer and the DexLabs race team about the new stock car body and the new fuel mix . . . Very well, Mr. Green. We'll look at both options carefully. What else?"_

_Utonium took center stage. "Mr. Mosco tells me we're being sued by Mary and Susan Test. Again."_

_Groaned Dexter, "What for this time, Dad?"_

_"Patent violation of transport technology," Utonium said with suppressed amusement. "Specifically, satellite relays for gridless materialization sites."_

_Him purred to see Green smile. Pointed yellow teeth were definitely the calling card of the Hinata. So where did that green skin and the height come from? Even if it was wasted on the undersized, unappreciative, redheaded beast in glasses, a smile suited Kilroy. The pair of them shook their heads. Obviously being sued was not anything new for Dexter. That didn't surprise Him in the least._

_"Oh, please. Did Mr. Mosco send them a copy of _Jojo v. DexLabs_ from two years ago when Mojo Jojo tried to sue me for raised rifling on the barrel of the Mark II Null-Void?" grumbled Dexter as the Powerpuff Girls came down the path, noisier than a flock of birds. "When will those stoooped girls figure out to patent their own inventions before greater geniuses come up with the same idea only better and patent it first?"_

_"Or shanghai it," the Professor said softly, grinning. "I'm sure they'll argue the legal expense again."_

_"I only had to learn that lesson once," Dexter replied sternly, making Him wonder if he had an emotional range that extended beyond cranky and grumpy. "It's less expensive to get a patent than to hire a decent lawyer, as I'm sure they'll figure out eventaully. And if their moronic brother shows up again with that mongrel in tow with another misguided notion of revenge-"_

_Utonium gestured for calm. "If Johnny and Dukey step foot on DexLabs propery again let Security deal with them, Dexter. We've got Johnny's DNA profile on record if he tries to disguise himself and he's been warned about trespassing."_

_"Do you actually think a warning would make any impression on him?" asked Dexter._

_Green smiled again. "Probably not even slightly, but the potential fireworks could be spectacular. Chip would be in his glory."_

_Him stared. Gorgeous, dashing, smart, and witty. Could Green get any more perfect?_

_Dexter rolled his eyes, thoroughly sarcastic as he said, "I live in hope."_

_Yes, he could get away from that bespectacled horror. _

_The arrival of the superpowered triplets spoiled any further interesting conversation since talk turned from harassing the ginger brat to lunch. Minutes later the party departed and entered the building. Him watched them go, fixated on silvery hair and curved black horns._

_And so it began._


	7. Rock, Paper, Scissors

**Chapter Six: Rock, Paper, Scissors**

_He followed Kilroy from above as he drove home, absurdly anxious that he might lose track of the bright red convertible even though the drive wasn't very far. Green drove to an upscale neighborhood in Downtown and parked his Spitfire in the garage of a trim townhouse. Not much later he appeared in clothes that were far more casual than the cape and tunic he'd worn to work. Him hummed in approval of this new look, wondering what Kilroy was about now._

_A walk. He went for a walk in the park next to the housing complex. That was all, yet somehow this otherwise unremarkable and dull activity held great fascination for Him. Up until this moment he had never given blue jeans the appreciation they so richly deserved. He materialized here and there along the route Kilroy chose, keeping concealed and deriving great pleasure out of watching the young demon enjoy the turning leaves and cool air. Joggers and other people out enjoying the park greeted Kilroy enthusiastically, one of them wrangling a promise of a badminton match-up out of him and an old lady detaining him for a few minutes for a mind-numbing chat about cats which he somehow seemed to enjoy._

_"__Quite a view, wouldn't you say?" lisped a high-pitched voice right behind Him._

_Demongo. Him controlled the desire to scowl or spit or otherwise let this gross creature know what he really thought of him as he turned around. Twisted, emaciated, black from head to toe with blue flames for hair and eyes, the Collector of Souls was proof positive that it was possible to hate someone more than Dexter. Him found Demongo and his notion of humor grotesque and his ability to collect souls of creatures he'd defeated wasted on a being so twisted. The only thing worse than his sadistic streak was his fashion sense, which was non-existent. Skulls were so gauche._

_The whip of a demon smiled teasingly and with false charm, knowing full well what Him was about and that the Ultimate Evil found him very objectionable._

_"__Quite attractive for a hybrid," commented Demongo, stepping up to join Him and take in the view. Like most fire demons, Demongo was a stickler for racial purity and looked down upon anyone cross-bred. For once Him was grateful for the prejudice because odds were good the black demon would have little or no interest in Kilroy beyond using him to taunt Him._

_"__How do you know he's a hybrid?" demanded Him._

_"__Hinata are yellow, not green, and they're never so tall. You should know that."_

_Him said nothing, steeling his features. Why did Demongo think he should know that? Granted he knew those facts full well and had already guessed that Green was a hybrid. Hinata were scarce and almost never seen outside of Japan, but was Demongo hinting at something he knew or fishing for information? His tone was disturbing, so Him ignored the comment and asked,_

_"__What do you want?" _

_"__Well at first I wanted to see what my dear friend Him was doing darting back and forth through the trees." He eyed Kilroy's retreating form. "Then I saw the reason. I never knew nature hikes could be so . . . so stimulating."_

_Him glared. He and Demongo were essentially peers when it came to measuring powers and strength. Neither had been born, but both had been made. Demongo, technically a fire demon, was a Hellspawn. He had been created in the blackest, hottest pits in Hell itself, the personification of despair that had been fed upon fire and the souls of the damned until the day of Ragnarok eventually unleashed him upon the unsuspecting earth. He had rampaged for centuries until he had been cast into the Pit of Hate and sealed in by magic. Him, on the other hand, was a Bloodspawn, as denoted by his coloring. He had been created by magic and blood and cast through time's dimension to wreck havoc through the ages._

_Though they enjoyed their exalted status over others of their kind – they had few peers and fewer superiors – they had always despised and resented each other, their feelings barely shielded by a thin veneer of civility. Demongo thought Him weak. Him thought Demongo perverse. Each would gladly have destroyed the other if the opportunity arose._

_"__That one would be worth collecting even if he didn't have a soul," declared Demongo._

_"__I saw him first," claimed Him a little childishly._

_"__And what have you done about it?" demanded the black demon. "Have you talked to him? Talked your way into his arms? His bed?" hinted Demongo._

_"__Is that all you think of?"_

_Demongo laughed a shrill cackle. "No, but I know it's the first thing you'd think of!" _

_"__Hardly," he snapped. That had been much further down on his list – second or even third . . . second._

_"__Just as well. You're not his type."_

_"__How would you know?"_

_With a smug smile, Demongo said, "You lack subtlety. How long have you been watching and not doing? Shall I show you how it's done?"_

_"__That's like offering to do brain surgery with a sledge hammer."_

_"__Is that a challenge?"_

_"__Isn't everything a challenge for you, Demongo?"_

_"__Everything but besting you, perhaps." He smirked at Him. "Let's play for the first shot at the little mongrel, shall we? Whoever wins will show the other how to . . . go about winning the pretty little Hinata."_

_There had to be more to it than that, but Him couldn't see what Demongo wanted outside of making himself a pest and interfering with Him's interests. Still, if he won he could at least keep the twisted Hellspawn well away. He had no doubt that Kilroy would be fairly easy to seduce. _

_"__What do you propose?"_

_"__Something simple your brain can manage," said Demongo, pretending to give the issue serious thought. "Rock, paper, scissors."_

_Him gave him a look of complete contempt. "What?"_

_"__Too hard? Should we improve your odds of winning and flip a coin instead?"_

_"__Oh, I wouldn't hear of it. Rock, paper, scissors it is."_

_"__On three, then, we'll see who gets the first date with the Hinata cast-off."_

_"__And the loser?"_

_Demongo grinned, throwing back his black cape to reveal the many skulls adorning his tunic. "Loser gets the second date, if he's still available."_

_"__On three, then."_

_On the count, Demongo held out his black fist. He blinked as he seemed to remember Him did not have hands, but claws._

_"__Scissors?" he wondered, staring at the claw._

_"__Paper, you boob," Him replied, refusing to lose._

_Demongo barked a laugh. "I thought only simpletons used the word boob."_

_"__Only a boob who _is_ a simpleton would suggest two of the most powerful demons alive play rock, paper, scissors to decide who gets to ask another demon out on a date." _

_The Hellspawn pouted, getting childish in turn. "You played, too!"_

_Him shook his head. "I win, Demongo."_

_The black demon chuckled. "So meet me tomorrow night and tell me all about your little tryst . . . unless you're too busy. Which I doubt."_

_Him moved past him, deliberately brushing him aside. "Don't wait up all night for me."_

_Kilroy was long gone, so Him vanished back to his own dimension, barely catching Demongo's wicked chuckle and quiet promise, "Don't worry. I won't."_

Of course his first attempt to ask Kilroy to go out had been a complete disaster. Enlightening, yes, but a disaster. And now, locked into this bet by Demongo's spell, unable to tell anyone about it, dealing with his own ludicrous fascination, and with Kilroy's life on the line, Him faced quite the dilemma.

How to make Kilroy Green fall madly in love with him?


End file.
